


About Time

by pieandsouffle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ?? - Freeform, Friendship, Gen, Sorting fic, marauder era, not sure what to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 04:03:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8148527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pieandsouffle/pseuds/pieandsouffle
Summary: James Potter has waited eleven years, one hundred and fifty-eight days, seventeen hours and forty-three minutes for this day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has been marinating in my fic folders for the better part of a year - probably time to put it somewhere, even if it's not going to be expanded or finished or whatever.
> 
> Plotless rubbish tbh

            It was only after they had left the small boats and pebbly embankment behind and were trudging up the huge stone steps towards a big wooden door that James realised that Sirius was looking rather pale in the face.

“Oi,” said James, prodding Sirius once in the shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

 Sirius swallowed once, and opened his mouth to answer, but it was at that moment that Hagrid, the enormous gamekeeper who had led them across the lake thumped his fist against the wooden door in two booming knocks.

            The door opened immediately, to reveal a very stern-looking witch in emerald robes, a few years younger than James’s mum. James supposed she was tall, but in comparison to the gamekeeper, she was just as short as all the first-years. The second thought after that was that she looked like exactly the sort of teacher he would take great delight in irritating.

            “Thank you, Hagrid,” she said as he said _hello_ merrily and the students started to filter past him into the cavernous entrance hall.

            “Yeah, thanks Hagrid!” said James eagerly into the silence, giving him a wave. This earned him a clap on the back from Hagrid that almost knocked him over, and a long stare from the professor when he righted himself, grinning. It wasn’t exactly a glare, and it was most certainly not a friendly look. It seemed very calculating, as though she were trying to work out exactly the kind of person he was.

            “Hi, professor!” James said to her brightly.

Her lips pressed together into a thin line.

            “Now, if you’ll all follow me…” and she led the rest of them into the entrance hall, an enormous stone room with flaming torches adorning the walls. Sirius seemed to perk up at this change in scenery, and looked around interestedly for a few moments before his expression fell.

Instead of leading them towards a pair of decoratively carved mahogany doors from behind which a cacophony of voices could be heard, the professor herded them towards a smaller doorway to the left. She had almost reached it when a wheezing man hobbled up to her, a cat trailing close behind.

            James looked at the cat. The cat looked back. James took an instant disliking towards it. The cat took an instant disliking towards James.

            “Professor!” the man wheezed, clutching his side. “Peeves – Dungbombs – ” He pointed wildly at the door the professor had her hand resting on.

            The professor seemed to understand what this meant immediately and turned towards the first-years.

            “The chamber in which I would normally present your brief orientation is suddenly unavailable,” said the professor coldly, “so I shall conduct it out here.

            “Welcome to Hogwarts. I am Professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress of this school. The Sorting Ceremony shall be conducted shortly, and you shall afterwards enjoy the start-of-term banquet. The Sorting ceremony is of utmost importance. The house you are sorted into shall be your family – ” she looked as though this was not the word she, personally, would have chosen, “ – at Hogwarts. Your lessons will be shared with other members of your house, you will sleep in dormitories with other house members in your year-level, and you shall share a common-room with all other house members.

            “The four houses are called Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin.”

 James elbowed Sirius at the word ‘Gryffindor’, grinning. But Sirius only smiled weakly, and looked as though he wouldn’t be entirely opposed to the idea of running to the closest lavatory and vomiting.

            “The houses are named after the four founders of the school, and you will sorted depending on your traits. No house is better than another, but there will be an opportunity to compete with one another. You will gain points for your house for your triumphs, and will lose points for any rule-breaking.”

            Fat chance of gaining many points, thought James.

            “At the end of the year, the house with the most points will be awarded the house cup. Points can be also gained through our school Quidditch matches – I will take this opportunity to remind you all that first-years are not permitted on the house teams.”

            James groaned. Sirius did too, his despair temporarily forgotten. Professor McGonagall glared at them.

            “If you would all wait here _quietly_ and in an orderly fashion; I will return for you when we are ready.” And she strode out, leaving the students silent for only a few seconds, before everyone started talking.

            “Cheer up,” James advised. “You’ll be put in Gryffindor.”

            Sirius remained unconvinced, and kicked at the side of a loose flagon morosely.  “But what if I’m not?” he asked fretfully.

            “Then you’ll become my sworn enemy, I’ll never talk to you again, and you’ll have to deal with dear Cissy and Bella on your own. Joking!” James added hastily when Sirius looked only more distressed. “Look, if you’re put in a different house, big deal! I’ll try smash you at Quidditch, but other than that, we’ll still be mates, eh?”

            “I guess,” said Sirius. He looked only mildly placated, before his expression turned sour again. “But if I’m put in _Slytherin_ …”

            “Well, you’ll have more opportunities to hex your relatives,” James suggested wisely.

            The first-year behind Sirius, a tallish, stringy boy who somehow managed to look under-grown despite being taller than the both of them, laughed at this. James took this as encouragement.

            “How about you?” he asked the boy, turning towards the boy. He was very pale and ill-looking, and had a fair few scars across his nose and cheeks and deep shadows under his eyes, but he seemed friendly enough. “What house d’you reckon you’ll be in?”

            “What house?” the boy looked thoughtful, and scratched his nose. “Ravenclaw, probably. That’s what my dad was in, and apparently I’m just like him.”

            This seemed to distress Sirius even more. “But what about your mum?” he urged anxiously. “What house was she in?”

            “Livingstone,” said the boy promptly.

            “Living- _what_?”

“She’s a Muggle.”

“Okay. But you’re not _worried_ what house you’ll be in?”

            The boy seemed to think this a very difficult question. “Well…” he started slowly, “I am. But I’m just pleased to be here, so I don’t mind what house I’m in.” He paused. “Unless it’s Slytherin.”

            Sirius looked devastated.

            “No!” the boy said hastily. “I mean… I don’t think I’d fit in there very well.”

            “Because they’re all purists,” Sirius moaned, and put his head in his hands.

            “Sirius’s family have been in Slytherin for generations,” James told the boy confidentially. The boy looked more understanding.

            “Listen, just because your family was in it doesn’t mean you’re going to be in it,” the boy said comfortingly. “I mean, we get sorted by our traits, don’t we? And if you don’t like your family, or you disagree with them, then chances are you’re different enough to be put in a different house.”

“My favourite cousin got disowned for marrying a Muggleborn, and she’s just about the nicest person I’ve ever met. And _she_ was in Slytherin.”

            Almost automatically, James exchanged an alarmed look with the scarred boy.

            “Face it, I’m _doomed._ ”

            “I’m sure that’s an overstatement, Mr Black,” a stern voice stated, and the three of them jumped. Professor McGonagall had returned.

            She directed her attention to the group of students rather than just Sirius, who had turned red. “The Sorting ceremony is ready to begin. If you’ll follow me…”

            Just before they reached the double doors into the Great Hall, McGonagall harassed them all into a crooked line, and then the doors were opening and they were inside.

            James supposed he should have felt nervous, as the entire school had turned to watch the first-years power-walk towards the front of the Hall, but he was too captivated by the chamber itself to really pay any attention.

            Four long tables for the houses, each seated with hundreds of students, stretched from the double doors near the entrance hall all the way down to the staff table at the opposite end. There, seated in robes of widely varying colours, were the professors. The one with the long white beard James recognised instantly as Professor Dumbledore – his parents had spoken very highly of him. The others he didn’t recognize at all, and that empty chair beside Dumbledore must be McGonagall’s seat…

            “Oh, _wow_ ,” breathed the scarred boy, who had been forced into line in front of James.

            “Brilliant, isn’t it?”

            Even Sirius had stopped himself from being miserable to peer interestedly at the ceiling. When James looked up as well, he could see silvery clouds drift across a waxing moon, which was neatly hung in a sky full of bright stars.

            They only stopped walking when James bumped into the boy; it seemed as though they had stopped. After a great deal of walking into one another, the first-years were finally huddled in a great crowd in front of Professor McGonagall, a small stool, and a manky old hat.

            “What…?” said Sirius.

            “No idea,” James replied.

            The hat twitched in its place on the stool, and then the brim separated from the rest of the hat like a great frayed mouth and very unexpectedly burst into verse.

            James missed the first few lines due to his surprise, but caught up quite quickly. It was simple, really. The Hat went on for a bit about the different Houses, proudly proclaimed itself the invention of Godric Gryffindor, and then told them how the Sorting would work: Professor McGonagall would put the Hat on their heads. The Hat would pick a House for them. End of story.

            As the Hall burst into applause at the end of the song, Sirius muttered, “So it’ll just tell me where to go! Maybe I can reason with it.”

            “It’s a hat,” said James. “It shouldn’t have any reason at all.” But there was an undeniable allure to the hat, a fantastical element that excited James. Gryffindor had made the Hat. That was _Gryffindor’s_ Hat.

            “When I call your name,” said a stern voice, “ come forward _quietly_.”

            Professor McGonagall had magically procured an enormous roll of parchment; pushing her glasses up her nose, she looked down at the first name.

            “Akele, Hecate!”

            A short girl with dark skin and cornrows made her way to the front. She climbed onto the stool, and Professor McGonagall placed the Hat on her head. It fell down past her eyes, but it was only a second before it shouted, “ _RAVENCLAW!”_

Ravenclaw’s table erupted in applause, and Hecate strode confidently down towards it.

            “Anderson, Ella!”

            Ella sat on the stool for a little longer than Hecate, but she, too, was welcomed warmly into Ravenclaw.

            And so it continued, through the As, a ‘Barnes’, ‘Berns’ and ‘Biker’ were sorted, and then –

            “Black, Sirius!”

            Sirius was faintly green, and almost tripped on the way up. The Hat dropped over his eyes, and there were a few awful seconds of waiting, before –

“ _GRYFFINDOR!”_

            James cheered as McGonagall pulled the Hat off Sirius’s head. He looked almost impossibly relieved. Although the noise from Gryffindor table was immense, there were a few _boos_ from the Slytherin table, but it looked as though Sirius didn’t care at all.

            More names were called, and James recognised the red-haired girl from the train, “Evans, Lily”, and watched as she was sorted in Gryffindor. She made a point of avoiding Sirius at the table.

            They reached the Ls, and ‘Lupin, Remus’ was called.

            The scarred boy swallowed.

            “Remember,” whispered James urgently, “it doesn’t matter what house you’re in. But if you’re in Slytherin, you’ll have to drop out in shame.”

            Remus hid a smile, and went up, but he was still pale.

            He sat on the stool for a good twenty seconds before the Hat announced _“GRYFFINDOR!”_

            James wolf-whistled. Remus took the hat off, looking surprised but pleased, and made his way down to the table.

            It felt like aeons before ‘Pettigrew, Peter’ was sorted into Gryffindor after two minutes under the Hat, and then –

            “Potter, James!”

            Nearly trembling in excitement, James strode up to the stool. Professor McGonagall gave him the traditional not-reassuring smile she had gifted the other students with, and then the Hat was over his eyes and everything was black.

            “I see,” said the Hat in a voice that curled around James’s brain. “I see! Well, you’ve certainly got an excellent mind in there, but I don’t think Ravenclaw’s the right place for you… too much of a troublemaker, not quite enough appreciation for learning.”

James snorted.

“I thought you might agree,” said the Hat wryly. “ _Gryffindor!”_

            James grinned, and Sirius cheered.

***

            The Head Boy Shacklebolt led them to their dormitories after a brief tour of the common room, and made a point of advising them to all go to bed early, so as to decrease the chances of them falling asleep in classes the next day: the first lesson began at nine o’clock. James saw the logic in this advice, but decided immediately to forgo it. He was too wide-awake to go to sleep at any point during the night.

            They were bundled into their dormitories despite his protests. There were thirteen new boys in Gryffindor total, and three dormitories of five beds. Sirius and James claimed two beds in the same room straightaway, and they ended up being joined by Remus (who had turned from looking excited to very wan and exhausted) and the mousey boy who was sorted before James, Peter. The other nine had apparently decided they were happy in the other two dormitories. No matter, thought James. ‘Barnes’ or whoever had looked a bit of a prat.

After stowing their suitcases under their beds and tugging on their pyjamas, he was of the mind to suggest they all have a game of Exploding Snap, but decided against it at the last moment. Out of the other three, only Sirius looked awake enough to have a proper game. It was once Remus and Peter had gotten into bed and drawn the curtains (with cheerful and shy ‘goodnights’ respectively) that James suggested a game.

            “Oi, Sirius,” he whispered.

            “Huh?”

            “You up for Gobstones or Exploding Snap?”

            James blinked, and Sirius was sitting cross-legged on his bed, a handsome set of Gobstones in his lap. “Ahead of you there, mate.”

            They made an impressive effort to remain silent for about fifteen minutes, which was exactly when James was hit in the face with a squirt of foul liquid. He swore loudly, attempting to clean off his glasses, and Sirius burst into laughter.

            “Hey,” said Remus Lupin from across the room, sounding very weary but faintly amused, “thought you might want to know that the Head Boy is about to come in.”

            In the three seconds it took for this to register to the pair, Shacklebolt had sent the door flying open.

            “Look here,” said Shacklebolt. His tone was reasonable, but his posture was intimidating, even in his ugly striped pyjamas. “I can’t _force_ you to go to sleep, but I _promise_ you that you’ll wish you’d just gone to bed when you fall asleep in McGonagall’s class tomorrow.”

            “That’s true,” Sirius acknowledged, “but honestly, she’s going to hate us anyway so there’s really no point in trying to please her straight off.”

            “Yeah,” agreed James. He would have said something else, but he was too distracted trying to blindly clean his glasses.

            “I think you’ll regret that sentiment later,” said Shacklebolt patiently, “but it _is_ your funeral. Goodnight, and try to keep the slime off the beds.” He left, smiling slightly.

            “Hey Remus,” called James, after the door had closed and the Head Boy’s footsteps had receded. “Want to play as well, or are you leaning more towards telling us to ‘shut up and let me sleep’?”

            Remus sighed. “I – ” he began, sounding very conflicted.

            “You don’t have to.”

            “Well… I mean, I’d like to. But I’m not feeling very well, and I really think I ought to sleep it off.”

            “Fair enough,” Sirius shrugged, before he realized that Remus obviously couldn’t see that. “I just shrugged.”

            “Great to know.”

            “We’ll keep it down, yeah? But if we’re too loud just yell at us to shut up and we will – or probably, anyway.”

            “Will do.” It sounded as though he were smiling. “’Night, you two.”

            “’Night,” James and Sirius chorused.

            They didn't go to sleep.

***

            The next morning, Sirius and James discovered, quite uncomfortably, that Shacklebolt had been completely right. Dragging themselves out of bed would have been almost completely impossible if it weren’t for Remus, who had forced it upon himself to wake them up. He looked (if possible) even worse than he had the other night.

            “Blimey, did we keep you up _all_ night?” James asked, squinting at Remus. He didn’t have his glasses on yet, but even he could see the darker bruises under his eyes.

            “No,” said Remus, handing him his glasses. “I can sleep through anything. I think I’m coming down with something.”

            He looked almost grey when James put his glasses on. He was already neatly dressed in his robes, but –

            “You need to go the hospital wing.”

            “I’m fine.”

            “You look like you’re slowly dying.”

            “I’m not letting a little thing like that ruin my first day.”

            James glared at him. Remus met his gaze solidly.

            “Wazzgoinon?” Sirius mumbled, falling out of bed. He looked up at Remus blearily. “Blimey, you look bad. I think you need to see a healer.” He sounded like he had a mouth full of toothpaste.

            Remus looked resigned. Sirius crawled under his bed, looking for a pair of socks.

            “See? You need to go to the hospital wing.”

“I really don’t. I know what it _looks_ like – ”

“It looks like your gizzards are going to make a surprise entrance at breakfast,” Sirius interrupted.

            “Look, I’ll just get through the day, yeah? And if I still look bad by the evening, I’ll go to the hospital wing. Deal?”

            James looked at Remus suspiciously, and then nodded. “If you start dying in Herbology, let us know.”

            “I’d be more worried in Potions,” said Remus, “but sure.”

           


End file.
